


Sentimentality

by BalefireFlatlands



Series: The Balefire [10]
Category: Mad Max (Video Game 2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2019-09-18 00:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16984479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalefireFlatlands/pseuds/BalefireFlatlands
Summary: Jeet has an ulterior motive for this scavenging mission.





	Sentimentality

It was remarkable how quickly the landscape changed in the Wasteland. The Balefire was fairly flat with various plateaus and rock formations breaking up the horizon, but just a few dozen miles to the East into Gutgash’s domain it became chalky white and full of bizarre crystalline structures and odd mineral deposits in sulfuric pools. The Outcrier had once mentioned that it was because that part of the world had been the ocean, a word that apparently meant millions of gallons of water in one place.

But the Outcrier was also a lying sack of shit so Jeet didn’t quite believe him.

Still, it was kinda pretty, in a sickly and disturbing sort of way. Like the earth had gone crazy and the very ground had erupted to match. Perfect for Gutgash really. Huffing a bit, Jeet snapped back to reality, he had let his mind wander for the past few miles with nothing to do but appreciate the scenery. He was leading the tiniest of scavenging parties to the aftermath of a fallen convoy, his first real act as a Warlord in months. It was just him and the small buggy with two other people in it, enough to get a good amount of supplies, but not so many that they’d be spotted, and if they were all killed the Lighthouse wouldn’t fall apart without them.

Well maybe it would without Jeet, but he wasn’t allowing himself to think about it. Afterall, he’d be dead, he wouldn’t have to worry about the Stronghold ever again.

The smoke from the wreckage hadn’t risen very high by the time they arrived, and the Roadkill who had taken down the convoy were long gone after performing their standard smash and grab. It was a good plan and Jeet was aiming to emulate it, take as much as they could and leave before someone noticed they were there. Scab would have thrown a fit if he knew, which was part of the reason he wasn’t along for the ride. Though it wasn’t for lack of effort, Jeet had practically needed to pry the War Boy off his leg as he left.

Jeet shook his head as he got out of the car, not sure why he was thinking about Scab instead of the task at hand. Resources. That was his priority, and he needed to stop letting other concerns interfere with running the stronghold. Like how if he died on this run what would happen to his prisoners?

Growling he gritted his teeth, there he went again, thinking about things that weren’t important. What was important was the Stronghold; keeping it going and maintaining a better quality of life for its residents. Focusing back on the reason he’d left the Stronghold in the first place Jeet started rooting through one of the ruined cars. As expected most of the good stuff, and the easiest stolen, was already gone, but in the barren expanse of the Balefire nothing was wasted. A harsh kick to one of the bucket seats revealed the cars’ small cache of supplies probably meant to be used while traveling overnight: a canteen, some tins of food, and a blanket. With a grin Jeet grabbed it all, tucking the blanket under his arm.

A few of the dead War Boys strewn around still had goggles and most of them had their clothes; that must not have been a priority for the Roadkill. Jeet approached one of them, stealing the goggles and his shoes, and unhooking the dead man’s belt. The War Boy was a little small though. Tossing the loot in the back of his car Jeet sized up the corpses littering the road. As the other members of his party worked on dismantling one of the cars for parts, Jeet walked several yards away to a dead War Boy sprawled out face down in the sand.

He seemed about the right size and Jeet kicked him over with the toe of his boot. Grunting a little he knelt down to strip off the dead man’s pants. All War Boys looked the same, and this one had nearly the same face stripes as Scab did. It was unsettling; actually it was extremely disturbing and Jeet tried not to look at the corpse’s face. Instead he focused on the goods he was scavenging; there was a bandolier across the War Boy’s chest that had once held tools but was now empty. That got taken too, along with his shoes, goggles and a padded arm bracer leaving the man completely naked and exposed. Easier for the buzzards to eat. Both the human versions and the birds.

Dust on the horizon to the west was a good indicator that it was time to leave. Jeet threw his new finds on the passenger seat of the car, on top of a few tires and an alternator loaded in by his eager Stronghold residents. He was a Warlord and he was a leader, but he didn’t expect obedience like the Immortan, nor desperate loyalty like Gutgash. All he wanted was for people to pull their weight, to contribute whatever they could, and he’d take care of the tedious inventory management and assignment of tasks. It wasn’t a bad life, considering how poorly it went for people living on their own in the middle of the desert and the people who lived with him seemed to appreciate it.

With a nod to his cohorts he got back in the car, pointedly ignoring their smirks at what he had been carrying. Sliding into the car he kept an eye on the rear-view mirror, making sure that approaching dust cloud stopped at the wreckage and didn’t follow them home. The last thing he wanted was to stand siege when he was still building the stronghold back up from Gutgash’s attack. Absently he ran his thumb over the ridges of the steering wheel, a shiny braided metal brake line was carefully twisted around the wheel to give it some grip, a few flattened arrowheads hammered into the middle. Scab had been adamant about Jeet having his own wheel even though the car had already had a perfectly serviceable one in it. So he’d taken it upon himself to make it for him, acting as if it was a great honor to make a steering wheel for an Imperator.

Running his hands along the wheel he glanced over at the items on the seat next to him before returning his eyes to the horizon. He was going soft. Had to be.

—

Scab was sleeping against the back wall of the little alcove he shared with Blas, pressed up against the cool stone of the lighthouse wall. He didn’t normally sleep during the middle of the day and Jeet frowned as he crawled in there to sit next to him. For a few minutes Jeet just watched him, every moment of Scab’s life was a struggle. Even asleep his shoulders were shaking, his muscles twitching and his breath raspy. He must have been a mess internally, who knew how much of him had been damaged in the accident and then not repaired because all they cared about was him being alive enough to have his blood drained.

Reaching out Jeet rested his hand on Scab’s shoulder, waiting for him to wake up. He’d startled him awake enough times to know that the War Boy never reacted well to that, panicking and, even after being in the Lighthouse for over a year, having no idea where he was.

Scab shuddered and groaned, blinking sleepily at Jeet and then immediately twisting himself around to get up on his hands, trying to look alert and ready for orders. “You’re back! Was it glorious? Did you destroy everything that stood in your way?”

“No. We got what we needed and we left.” Jeet rolled his eyes, trying to imagine what Scab thought was actually happening on scavenging runs. “Here. Something for your tools when you’re working.” He set the pants down next to him and draped the bandolier over Scab’s neck.

Perking up Scab pushed himself fully upright into a sitting position using the wall for support. Smiling down at himself he adjusted the strip of leather to sit comfortably against his chest, fingers running along its length and exploring the tiny pouches and pockets. Excitedly he grinned at his Imperator, “You honor me.”

Jeet grunted, Scab looked very, very young when he smiled. “Thought you might want these too.” He awkwardly put the pants in Scab’s lap, realizing now that he was giving the things to him that he didn’t have any purpose in doing so. He’d only grabbed them because he thought Scab would like it, which was a sentiment he’d never had before. It wasn’t beneficial in any way for the War Boy to have a new set of clothes, the bandolier was arguable since Scab was a mechanic, but Jeet’s intention had been to get him the pants. Why had he done that?

Unaware of the internal debate Jeet was having with himself, Scab unfurled the cargo pants with obvious delight. His own were very short, the same pair he’d had since he was a pup. And while he’d gotten taller, the fabric hadn’t, ending mid-calf and exposing a brand that had once been a symbol of Scrotus, but had been altered to look like something that might have been a lighthouse if you squinted.

Scab laid the pants out on the floor before fumbling with his own belt. Jeet hesitated, unsure if Scab wanted any help. Sometimes he snapped at them when Jeet or Blas tried to assist him with everyday tasks like getting dressed, he wanted to do everything himself. Because he wasn’t broken.

But watching Scab literally crawl out of his current pants and then trying to twist around and put the new pair on one-handed, was too much for Jeet. He didn’t say anything as he wrapped an arm around Scab and dragged him into his lap hauling the new pants onto the War Boy’s numb legs. Scab didn’t shout a volley of expletives at him so it must have been okay, eagerly squirming so he could see himself.

A huge smile gracing his face, Scab turned and wrapped his arms around Jeet, momentarily forgetting this was his leader and War Boys didn’t just hug their Imperators. Jeet accepted it though, returning the gesture as he mentally chastised himself for getting in this situation in the first place. He was starting to think of Scab as a person instead of a crazed, feral War Boy who’d been brainwashed in Gastown, and that was dangerous. Sentimentality was a terrible trait for a leader.

He put up vague resistance as Scab pulled away in order to shove Jeet down onto his back and crawl on top of him, fingers working at the Warlord’s clothes. It was so hard to remember that Scab was just a resource to be used when he was smiling that lecherous smile and pulling all of Jeet’s clothes off.

Closing his eyes Jeet leaned his head against the cool floor of Blas’ room, his hand wrapped around the back of Scab’s head, fingertips massaging his scalp. He couldn’t lie to himself that he didn’t care about Scab and Blas, no matter how many times he told the other residents of the Stronghold that they were his prisoners. Everyone probably already knew anyway considering the smirks he got sometimes. Great, he was well on his way to becoming the Outcrier, everyone knew about him and that generator boy, but no one said anything.

Jeet snarled as Scab bit him, digging his fingers into Jeet’s shoulders and hauling himself over on top of him. Stupid War Boy, knowing exactly when he needed some rough painful stress relief. Jeet shoved him over onto his back, switching their places as Scab skimmed his nails all down his arms, twisting one of the blades in his bicep.

“You know me too well.” Jeet knelt back on his heels, stripping Scab out of the pants he’d just gotten him into.

Scab’s face twisted into a huge smile, an expression that made Jeet marvel that he had any teeth left with that kind of smug grin. “I’m your Champion.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up.”


End file.
